


You want something. Do you think you've earned it?

by WeNeedARuse



Series: When it's like this. [8]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Overstimulation, Semi-Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Slight Dirty Talk, Suits, but probably not what you were expecting, dom!dutch, ish, it's randomly dialogue heavy, slight timeline fuckery, sorry - Freeform, this is a fic about a blow job, vandermorgan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 06:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18733954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: "He’s going to get something but he doesn’t know what. Dutch is only ever like this when huge stress is on him, or when someone's pissed him off.Or when he’s scored big."Arthur. Dutch. Suits. A carriage.





	You want something. Do you think you've earned it?

**Author's Note:**

> I just can't seem to stop writing these. I don't even know...
> 
> This is a sequel to I know what you want. I always know...and as promised, there is suits. Lovely suits.
> 
> So, this might not be for everyone because it's not completely dom!Dutch, or I guess it is to me, but he's not throwing Arthur about in this one. He's...gentler. It's a thing...I have...for my Dutch. Sorry :)
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you guys like, and I really hope this series isn't just dragging on for you because I really am enjoying coming up with stuff for these boys to do! 
> 
> Please let me know in the comments if you want! But, like, nicely, because I'm easily panicked. I’m always ridiculously nervous in posting these, even though I reaaally enjoy the writing of them, so thank you for taking the time to kudos and comment :)
> 
> P.S. I'm still not great at writing blow jobs.

A party of rich folks is something else. Champagne and fireworks and the dullest talk he’s ever heard. For once in his life, Arthur thinks he might be glad he isn’t rich. 

He’s ready to go.

And then Dutch appears. 

Like he knows. 

And Bill is gone. Hosea too. And Arthur tilts his head as Dutch strides towards him.

“Get in.” He gestures to the carriage, nodding to Lenny as Arthur does as he’s told. “We’re taking the long way back tonight Mr Summers, Arthur and I have business to discuss.” 

“Business.” Arthur grumbles, settling himself on the plush leather seat, stretching his legs out as far as they will go as Dutch climbs in after and takes the opposite seat. “Sure.”

Dutch taps the roof of the carriage and they’re moving.

He’s surprised at how relaxed Dutch seems, considering the way Angelo Bronte just treated him. He must be seething, he thinks, underneath all that. 

He must want to gun down the whole place.

God knows Arthur does.

Silence.

For a short while.

Arthur watches as Dutch places his top hat on the seat besides him, tapping the top of it as they move out of the city. 

His hair is slicked back.

Curls at the nape of his neck.

Arthur wets his lips and looks away.

It’s not good, to have certain thoughts, when there’s no way to act upon them.

He fiddles with his collar, tugging at the restrictive button at his throat. 

“Don’t like being in a suit Arthur?” Dutch smiles.

Arthur grimaces.

“I feel like a prize idiot.”

“You look like a prize, my boy.” 

A prize.

And Dutch has that look. The one he can’t tear his own eyes from. The one he feels almost self conscious under. It’s so piercing. So direct.

Dark.

Lust.

Arthur swallows. Hard.

“Thought you wanted to talk business.” His voice is gruff, like there’s something lodged in his throat. 

Dutch does that to him.

And he knows it, too. 

“We can if you want. You found the ledger, that will give us something to work with. Do you know how good you look right now Arthur?” The change, sudden, is jarring and Arthur thinks he might have misheard.

No.

Dutch still has that look.

Arthur squirms in his seat, prays that Dutch won’t continue or he’ll have an erection the size of a mountain and no way of taking care of it. 

“All dressed up.” Dutch leans his head back and looks him over. “Just begging to be debauched.”

“Dutch…”

“I wanted to bend you over the nearest surface.” Arthur can feel his pulse race.

He shakes his head.

“Fuck you so hard people would think I was killing you.” 

Shit.

He glances down at his strained trousers and takes a deep breath.

“I can’t imagine why.” He lowers his voice, begging him to take the hint. 

He doesn’t want Lenny to hear. 

No one knows in camp. Well. No one has said anything even if they do.

But they don’t court danger. They don’t want to be found out.

The world ain’t kind to men like them.

“My boy,” Dutch leans forwards now, elbows to his knees and he’s so close that Arthur can see the intensity in his eyes. Wild almost. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

“You been drinking Dutch?” He tries to lighten the mood. The tension is threatening to undo him. 

And Dutch is still looking at him like that.

Like he’s actually something to look at.

“Yes. Quite a bit actually.” He doesn’t look drunk, not really. But now he’s said it, Arthur can see the signs in the corners of his eyes. “That little shit Bronte really…” He leans back again, spreads his legs a little. “I’d like to put a hole in his head.”

“That would be a bad move.” Not that he doesn’t deserve it of course. 

“No.” And Dutch is smiling now, gaze unwavering, sweeping over Arthur in such a way that he feels naked. Stripped. Pulled apart.

Only Dutch can do that to him.

“I think I’d like to watch you do it. That would please me.” Dutch presses his fingers to his lips, cocks his head as if he’s listening out for something. “You like to please me.”

The temperature in the carriage seems to soar.

Arthur nods.

Croaks out his words. Only ever spoken between the two of them. Private.

“You know I do Dutch.” 

He’s going to get something but he doesn’t know what. Dutch is only ever like this when huge stress is on him, or when someone's pissed him off.

Or when he’s scored big.

Maybe he’ll fuck him in his bed. In that big room near his own. Take his time like he used to. Spread him and fill him and empty him.

When it’s like this.

When he’s like this.

Arthur will let him do anything.

“You want something from me.” Arthur is almost startled when Dutch speaks again, lost in his own thoughts as he was. He frowns, 

“I do?”

Dutch smiles.

It’s filth.

“You did. You know what it is. You want something. Do you think you’ve earned it?” 

And he remembers.

A few nights ago.

His hand on his cock. 

His voice in his ear.

Arthur drops his head back against the carriage wall and groans deep.

And then Dutch is close, hands on either side of his hips.

Between his legs.

Arthur doesn’t think he’ll make it through this journey.

“Have I died?” He mumbles and Dutch, fucking Dutch, unzips his pants and tugs his aching cock out. “Dutch Van Der Linde, sucking my cock? I’ve died and gone to hell, haven’t I…” 

“Be quiet Arthur.” 

But he can’t.

He can’t stop the babble of words.

Because this

This is new.

“Do you even know how to suck cock?” 

Warm breath over him and he’s already trembling.

And Dutch, calm and dapper and unruffled looks up at him from the fucking floor of the carriage

and squeezes his hand around the base of his cock.

Hard.

Arthur sucks in a breath.

“That would be speaking Arthur, which I expressly told you not to do.” Dutch wets his lips. “Don’t do it again.” 

He knows to obey.

And then heat

Warm

Wet

And so fucking good.

He thinks he might go crazy. Legitimately. Like they will find him after this and lock him up. Or maybe he already is crazy and he’s imagining Dutch Van Der Lindes mouth on his cock.

Imagining that sound.

Imagining the way his eyes have fluttered closed as if…

Oh god.

He feels himself in the back of his throat and almost comes there and then.

But Dutch pulls back, one hand still around the base of his cock, the other gripping tight to Arthurs thigh so that he can’t thrust, can’t push up, can’t move.

Restricted.

But Arthur is watching, forcing his eyes wide open this time. Because he never, ever, wants to forget this sight. 

And suddenly his hand is pressing hard to the top of the carriage, the other gripping white knuckled to the leather seat as Dutch presses down without warning and he almost loses control.

And he speaks again. Even though he’s not supposed to.

Whispers.

Gasps.

“Shit Dutch. Goddamn. Shit, shit…” 

Losing control.

He wants to grip hold of Dutch’s hair and hold his head down as he thrusts. He wants to stay like this and let himself be used. He wants to stroke his fingers down Dutch’s cheek and thank him.

“Shit, god...Dutch, please don’t, don’t…” 

And Dutch

Bastard

Pulls off, looks up at him.

This is worse. So much worse. 

Red lips, saliva…

Arthur groans and it’s filthy and nothing like he’s ever heard from himself.

“Don’t what, Arthur?” 

There’s a glint in Dutch’s eye that he’s seen so many times before and it almost grounds him.

Almost.

But his head is bowed again, lowered, over him. Not touching. Not yet.

“Don’t stop.” 

If he stops now.

No.

“Beg me.” 

Oh god. Oh god.

His fingers twitch on the seat, he can hear Lenny singing to himself. He can see Dutch smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Please Dutch.” 

It’s weak. The weakest he’s ever sounded. It’s broken and quiet and lost.

Dutch laughs.

And swallows him down.

He comes hard. Pulsing. Pounding. White lights in his vision.

Head thrown back and lip bitten bloody.

He comes with Dutch’s name lodged in his throat, a silent scream.

And when he thinks he can’t give any more, Dutch’s mouth is on his and his come is on his tongue and he’s swallowing himself down and he knows he knows he knows

He knows Dutch has given him something tonight. Something so important.

But he can’t gather the strength to speak of it.

And

God

He’s lost time because the next thing he knows Dutch is opposite him again, settled back in his seat and watching him. The gaze is no less intense but it’s different this time.

Arthur takes a deep breath.

There’s tears in the corners of his eyes.

There’s come on Dutch’s lip.

He groans, watches as he swipes it off with his thumb, wiping it on the seat besides him. 

“If I’d have known it got you this riled up, I might have thought about doing this a long time ago.” 

And that changes the tension.  
Arthur relaxes.

“Nah, you wouldn’t.” He smiles lopsidedly, too dazed to do much of anything else.

“You’re right.” Dutch shrugs unapologetically. 

He looks so fine, sat there in his suit, the only sign anything has happened is in the loosening of his top button.

Arthur drops back in his seat, boneless.

“These last two times,” He says it slowly. He knows if he says it wrong Dutch will not like it. “They’ve been all about me Dutch. I’m gonna start thinking you care.”

A joke.

Dutch chuckles.

“Oh, you think this is entirely altruistic?” 

He feels sleepy now.

“I don’t know what that means and you know it.” Dutch leans forwards, taps Arthur's knee.

“There are different paths to ruin, Arthur. I chose this one tonight.” 

As if it’s so simple, what he just did.

Silence.

A beat.

“I want to make it up to you.” 

He’s never been more earnest. Never more honest. Dutch smiles at him like you would at a simple child.

“Maybe later. We’re almost home and we don’t want young Lenny hearing more than he needs to.” But Arthur wants. 

He glances down.

Smiles.

“You’re hard, Dutch.”

“That would be one of the things he won’t need to hear.” 

Before he can think about it, tell himself not to, Arthur reaches across and puts his hand over Dutch’s. 

“Let me do something. Please.” Dutch looks down at where their hands meet and is silent a long time, long enough for the carriage to rumble to a stop and for Lenny to yell down that they’d arrived. 

Then he pushes Arthur's hand away and shoves open the door.

“I’ll think about it.” He says as he leaves, walking his way down to the front door and leaving Arthur sitting there, watching him.


End file.
